


Yet Nothing Can Resist It

by Smoak



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jealous Lydia Martin, Just Bear With Me, Lydia's sad about Allison's death, Mutual Pining, Pining Lydia Martin, Stydia, but a lil stalia in the beginning, not too sure where this is going yet, plus a new character, so far it's kinda angsty, takes place after season 3b, with a new supernatural threat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 04:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15404502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smoak/pseuds/Smoak
Summary: Still reeling from Allison's death, Lydia's just trying her best to act like everything's back to normal. The problem is, that's kinda hard to do when intense visions of a new threat lurking in Beacon Hills keep her from thinking straight. Plus, she's pretty sure the only person she wants to help her through this is too preoccupied with a werecoyote. How did her life come to this? Eventual Stydia. Takes place after season 3b.





	Yet Nothing Can Resist It

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, this is the first time I've written anything in a while, so please bear with me! I have a general idea where this story is headed, but I haven't exactly planned the whole thing out yet. Basically, what it is so far is a kinda angsty, kinda jealous, eventual mutual pining, Stydia fic with a bunch of supernatural stuff going on. Hope you like it!

_“Nothing is softer or more flexible than water, yet nothing can resist it” –Lao Tzu_

It isn’t the lack of oxygen that first alerts Lydia she’s completely submerged under water.

No, it’s the way every sound she hears is muddled, like she knows someone is saying something but her brain can’t quite figure out what the words mean. It’s the way everything around her is slightly distorted, dancing around her in a slow, peaceful manner. The water in front of her begins to take a more solid shape, conjuring up an image of Beacon Hills’ high school guidance office as if it were on a movie screen. A small voice in the back of her head tells her how strange this all is, but she can’t bring herself to care at the moment. Suddenly she can see Stiles sitting across from a guidance counselor, his familiar voice ringing in her ears- “you know, when you’re drowning you don’t actually inhale until right before you black out,” she hears him say, his voice somewhat detached.

_Voluntary apnea_ , her mind fills in the blank for her a moment before Stiles does _._ “It’s called voluntary apnea,” he says, his voice dry and matter-of-fact, like he’s stating that the sky is blue. She feels her heartbeat begin to speed up at his words, the peaceful disorientation she felt a moment ago being chased away by the feeling of ice cold panic shooting through her veins as she fully realizes where she is. Trapped in an underwater world with no visible way out. She can feel her eyes widening as she frantically searches for an escape route, arms and legs thrashing around.

The image of Stiles in the guidance office, fingers toying with his lacrosse stick as he speaks, begins to melt away in front of her, giving way to miles of deep ocean water so dark it almost blinds her. Yet, somehow, Stiles’ voice continues in the back of her mind- “It’s like no matter how much you’re freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won’t open your mouth until you feel like your head’s exploding.” As if he’s narrating exactly what’s about to happen to her next, she feels a sudden, immense pressure inside of her head. Both of her hands shoot up to hold the sides of her head in response, almost like she’s trying to hold the pieces of her own skull together. Her eyes screw shut, momentarily giving up their attempt at scouting out an escape route. Behind her eyelids Stiles reappears, this time talking directly to her. “Then when you finally do let it in, that’s when it stops hurting,” his voice is soft, coaxing her to just give in. “It’s not scary anymore,” he lulls, “It’s kind of peaceful.” Her mouth parts as he finishes the last word, allowing the water to rush into her lungs. She begins to feel a strange rush of calm filling her up with the water as everything in front of her begins to twist and fade away.

Her eyes spring open as she bolts straight up in bed, sunlight pouring in through her windows. Raking her hands through her long, strawberry blonde hair she makes a mental note that that was the third dream involving drowning she’s had this week. She swings her legs over her bed and walks toward her bathroom in a lingering haze. Her body is taking her through her morning routine, but her mind is anxiously going back over each dream she had. Before she can stop it, she’s being pulled back into the vivid memories of her previous nightmares. In the first one she’s a little girl again, sitting on the edge of the dock outside of her grandparents’ lake house. The wind picks up slightly around her as she kicks her legs back and forth from her perch just above the water. Her vision seems to focus in on a small fly buzzing around her, and then flying dangerously close to the water below them. All it takes is one small ripple in the lake for the fly to be dragged down into the unforgiving water. She remembers watching it try to escape to no avail, its fragile wings already too weighed down. Her mind screams at her to move, to help the poor, innocent thing, but she remains glued to the dock, her body paralyzed, until the fly stops fighting. She watches its lifeless body float away from her for as long as she can before her body wakes her up.

The second dream happens the next night. She remembers getting into bed, unable to shake the eerie feeling her previous dream left her with, and lying there until a fitful sleep finally finds her. Almost immediately after she closes her eyes, she’s standing in the middle of the woods in the dark of night, nothing but hard-to-make-out trees surrounding her. She feels a chill run up and down her spine as she tilts her head up to admire the few stars spotted across the otherwise black sky. Her stomach drops in response, knowing before her mind that something terrible is about to happen. Before she can move, there’s a huge, earth-shaking clap of thunder that sends tendrils of panic throughout her whole body. Her feet are suddenly pinned to the ground, her body paralyzed once again, as rain begins to pour harshly down on her. It chokes her, water making its way down her nose and into her throat, coating every part of her body in freezing cold. She coughs and tries to scream as the water begins to fill up her lungs. All that comes out, though, is a meek sputter and a whole lot of water as her body makes its best attempt at trying to expel it. Her last thought is how unfortunate it is that no one can hear her attempts at an earth-shattering scream over the relentless roar of the rain. She wakes up that morning covered in sweat.

She tries to shake off the memories as best she can as her mind brings her back to reality. She looks at herself in the mirror in front of her and realizes at her cherry red lips that her body’s already taken her through half of her morning routine on autopilot. She takes herself through the rest of it, trying to keep her thoughts contained to what she’s going to wear to school today. She had a bit of hope that the nightmares were over, today being Friday and the first two happening on Monday and Tuesday. As if on cue, a familiar feeling of dread ghosts its way through her body, wrapping itself around her pounding heart. Somewhere in the back of her mind that little voice is telling her this isn’t just anxiety driven night terrors, this is something else. This is something supernatural. 

* * *

Lydia straightens her car into her assigned school parking spot just as Stiles’ old, blue Jeep pulls into the lot a little ways down from her. She puts her car into park and watches as he does the same, hopping out of the driver’s side with a goofy grin on his face. She watches him pull the passenger side door open for the other person in the car, half expecting it to be Scott despite the fact that he rides his motorcycle to school now more often than not. A weird feeling passes through her as Malia gets out of his car instead. If she had to put a name to it, she would say it’s part jealousy, part hurt, and part aversion to change, and it’s crawling uncomfortably over every inch of her body. She does her best to shake it off, telling herself it’s nothing, and gets out of her car.

She’s sure to stay a safe distance behind the new, happy couple as she makes her way into the school. The click of her heels is drowned out by the overlapping chatter of the students crowding the hallway. She trails a good distance behind Stiles and Malia, choosing instead to observe them from afar. She watches as he places his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward their shared first-period class. Stiles whispers something to Malia, causing the brunette to throw her head back into a loud, wild laugh as he pulls the door to the classroom open and they walk inside. The slamming door causes Lydia to tear her eyes away and make a sharp turn down the hallway to her right as the strange feeling she had in her car begins to creep back up.

She doesn’t realize it at first, it’s almost like her body’s surrounded by a positive charge and she can’t keep it from being pulled toward the negative in her life, but before she knows it, she’s standing right in front of her best friend’s locker. _Dead best friend’s locker_ , she corrects herself. A flash of memories hits her all at once; of her and Allison laughing at her locker, talking about something dumb the guys did, of Allison holding her as she cries over Jackson leaving, telling her over and over again that she’s better than him and that she _deserves_ someone better than him. Of the sickening feeling of death and loss she felt rip unforgivingly through her body the minute Allison was fatally stabbed. Her whole body shutters at the memory, her mouth going dry at the thought of the scream that escaped her lips that night as she collapsed on top of Stiles’ unconscious body. It was torn from inside of her, rough and ugly, in the form of Allison’s name. The first period warning bell pulls her harshly back into reality, not that she really minds, and her body automatically begins to take her to AP calculus, leaving her mind back at her dead best friend’s locker.

It’s not even ten minutes into class and Mr. Greene is already on some quasi-motivational tangent about how true success in life can only be achieved by hard work, ambition, and a positive attitude. What exactly this has to do with factorials, Lydia isn’t sure. He strides back and forth across the front of the classroom, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses back up his short nose every so often.  She hears someone snort to her left, obviously on the same mental page as herself, and turns slightly in her seat to see Alex Mendes in the middle of an eye roll.

“Do you have something to add, Miss Mendes?” Mr. Greene asks, not looking too happy that his rant was just cut short.

“I’m just not too sure how picking out an inspirational quote of the week is going to help me pass this class,” Alex responds coolly, causing a ripple of laughter throughout the rest of the room. Mr. Greene’s eyebrows shoot so high up his forehead at her response that Lydia thinks they might fly right off.

“Miss Mendes,” Mr. Greene starts, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose once more before continuing, “do you really think that the esteemed Sir Isaac Newton created calculus by just sitting and staring at numbers all day, without as much as an inspirational quote to propel him forward?” he asks, his voice reaching glass-shattering decibels at the end.

“Yeah, I think that’s probably about how it happened,” Alex answers, crossing her tan arms across her chest and leaning back in her seat. A chorus of “ooh's” erupts from the group of boys sitting in the back of the classroom, half out of mockery and half out of excitement that they no longer have to sit through Mr. Greene’s morning monologue. Mr. Greene’s eyes open wide enough to pop out of his head as he sputters and angrily pushes the sleeves of his tweed sweater back up his arms. “Out!” he yells, pointing toward the door.

Alex lets out a cross between a laugh and a scoff before standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder. Lydia watches her strut out of the classroom, long dark hair swinging behind her as she goes. Mr. Greene hmphs as the door slams shut behind her. “Now there’s someone who could use a little guidance,” he starts to rant again. “Just think! One positive, inspirational quote and Miss Mendes could be on her way to winning a Nobel Prize for calculus!”

“Fields Medal,” Lydia corrects him dryly, wondering to herself how he was ever even hired to begin with. Mr. Greene doesn’t seem to hear her, though, as he continues to rant about the importance of working through adversity. She doubts anyone’s listening.

* * *

By the time lunch rolls around, Lydia is so done with this day that she considers just walking out the school’s double doors and driving home. The lack of sleep from the night before has her body aching for bed, but she pushes past the exhaustion and makes her way to the cafeteria, searching for her friends. She scans the room, eyes roving over all of the rambunctious students laughing loudly and stuffing their faces with stiff, cardboard-looking pizza. She finally spots two sets of couples in the far corner of the cafeteria, facing each other as if they’re on a double date. Scott and Kira have their backs to her, his arm slung over her shoulders, while Stiles and Malia’s faces are perfectly in her line of view. Her heartbeat quickens as she watches Stiles animatedly tell a story, waving his hands around as he speaks. Scott bursts into laughter as he finishes, and Malia rests her head on his shoulder. She waits a moment for the pang of jealousy to dissipate before walking over to their table. Stiles catches her eye as she’s halfway across the room, beckoning for her to hurry up.

“Lydia!” he yells, causing the other three to turn around and smile at her.  

“Hey,” she smiles tightly back at them, sliding into a seat next to Kira. For a moment she thinks she can see a look of concern ghost over Stiles’ face, but Scott’s voice keeps her from being able to decipher it.

“So, we’re all going to the party at Alex’s tonight, right?” he asks, glancing at everyone around the table.

“Alex Mendes?” Lydia asks among the chorus of agreement from the rest of her friends.

“Yeah,” Stiles answers her, “she’s throwing a huge party at her family’s cabin tonight.”

“It’s gonna be so much fun!” Kira says, smiling at Scott when he turns to look at her. Lydia contemplates making up some excuse to skip going out; she’s pretty sure she’d rather curl up in bed as soon as she gets home. Plus, she’d avoid being a fifth wheel- something Lydia Martin never is at a party. The only thing that keeps her from saying she has a date tonight is the nagging reminder of the nightmares she’s been having. The thought of being trapped underwater again, adrenaline fueling her desperate quest for an escape route that doesn’t exist, makes her stave off her exhaustion. Instead, she nods in agreement with Kira, non-verbally agreeing to go.

“I’ve never been to a high school party before. I mostly just chased deer,” Malia shrugs, like hunting animals for dinner is a totally normal reason for missing out on the high school social scene. _Because Peter Hale’s daughter would have been so fun at a party, anyway,_ Lydia thinks to herself, biting her tongue to keep herself from saying it out loud.

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you how to take shots, play beer pong, and then throw up all the shots you just took- you’ll fit right in!” Stiles quips. Her mind registers Scott and Kira laughing in response, but a dull buzzing sound pulls most of her attention away. She looks around to see if anyone else hears it too, but the carefree grins on their faces tell her no one does. The buzzing steadily gets louder and louder until it begins to sound like rushing water. Lydia feels a prickle of anxiety in the pit of her stomach, almost knowing what’s coming next. Her eyes hyperfocus on a drop of water falling from the corner of the table. _Drip, drip, drip,_ a few more drops fall in a quickening pace, the sound mixing in with the incessant roar of rushing water. A second later the drops of water are falling so quickly from all ends of the table, it looks like they’re coming from a hose. They form together at a quickening pace on the floor, creating an ever-rising pool of water just below her.

Annoyingly, everyone around her seems not to notice the impending danger and just continues what they’re doing, no regard for the flood now reaching all of their ankles. All the hairs on her arms shoot up as the ice cold water rises to her bare shins, licking at her exposed skin. A violent shiver runs down her spine at each small ripple in the water; each one so bone-chilling it almost burns her. If she could move she would be halfway home right now, but the familiar paralysis encases her whole body. Another chill racks violently through her, but this time it’s not from the cold. As if on instinct, she turns to her right, not in control of her own body anymore. Her hands grip the bottom of her seat so tightly she’s sure if she could see them her knuckles would be pure white. Her stomach is in knots as she slowly shifts her eyes up to meet another pair staring directly at her. Dark brown eyes bore into her own, sending a foreboding chill throughout her body. Lydia quickly observes the girl; the long, dark braid she has resting over her left shoulder, the uncanny resemblance to someone she can’t quite put her finger on, the absolutely terrified look on her face. _She can’t be more than fourteen,_ Lydia thinks to herself, her heart breaking at the young girl’s grimace.

“Help... me,” the girl chokes out, water spilling out of her mouth between words. Lydia gasps, her heart leaping into her throat.

“Lydia?” a soft voice snaps her back into reality and she turns sharply back to her left, away from the girl. The water suddenly drains away and she’s acutely aware of the four sets of eyes staring at her out of concern, and if she’s not mistaken, a little bit of pity.

“Are you okay?” she hears Kira say, realizing the kitsune is gently gripping her upper arm. She glances quickly to her right, confirming her suspicion that the girl vanished along with the water.

“I’m fine,” she says, turning back toward Kira with a forced smile. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom,” she makes up an excuse to flee the table, hoping it sounds somewhat convincing.

“Lydia!” she hears Stiles yell behind her, but she’s already halfway out of the cafeteria, and a minute later she’s in her car on her way home.

* * *

Lydia’s phone buzzes again, the same way it has been every so often since she got home a few hours ago. She’s been ignoring it thus far, choosing instead to focus on her millionth, but successfully mind-numbing, episode of _The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills._ Anything to keep the image of the young girl with the terrified eyes out of her head. She flips her phone over reluctantly, the 2:05 timestamp glaring back at her, signaling school just let out. Beneath the time sits a bunch of text messages from her friends, which she reluctantly gives in to scrolling through.

**Stiles: Lydia r u ok??**

**Scott: hey r u ok? u kinda freaked us all out at lunch. call me!**

**Stiles: I’m serious u really scared us and now ur just MIA!**

**Kira: If you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you :**

**Stiles: Lydia, I swear to god if u don’t answer ur phone right now I’m coming over there!!**

A small sigh escapes her lips, hands moving up to the sides of her head to rub her temples where she’s pretty sure she can feel a small tension headache forming.

**Lydia: I’m okay**

She texts Stiles back after a minute.

**Stiles: so I’ll c u at Alex’s party later?**

Now she’s sure it’s a full blown headache, the thought of having to go out tonight ramming into the sides of her skull. But, she’s pretty sure if she doesn’t go her friends will all bombard her with questions she doesn’t know how to answer (she knows they’d only be trying to help her, but still). And if her friends get involved, that will make it all real. It will make it something otherworldly, which isn’t something she wants to deal with right now. Especially after what happened last time something supernatural visited Beacon Hills… she doesn’t want to even entertain the thought, a flash of Allison’s limp body crossing her mind. She pushes it down as quickly as it appears, repressing it along with the rest of her underlying pain. Still, a voice in the back of her head warns her that these nightmares, or visions, or whatever the hell they are, can reach her when she’s awake as well, which definitely points to something banshee-related. She pushes that thought down, too, leaving it to die along with Allison.

Deciding on just pulling it together and going to the party tonight, she shoots Stiles a text back.

**Lydia: Yeah, I’ll be there**

**Stiles: so I’ll pick u up at 10?**

Her eyebrows furrowed together, the thought of sitting in a car with Stiles and Malia making her wish she’d been the one that was fatally stabbed.

**Lydia: I can drive myself**

**Stiles: pls Kira is gonna help Malia get ready and then they r gonna drive over w/ Scott and I don’t really wanna drive over alone**

A smile tugs on the corner of her lips.

**Lydia: Okay… I’ll be ready at 10**

**Stiles: awesome! c u then**

The hours tick by slowly as she flips through the channels on her T.V., trying to focus on anything other than the nervous energy buzzing inside of her. By the time ten o’clock rolls around she’s already regretting her decision to go, but the sound of a car horn outside her house tells her there’s no going back now.

Stiles waves at her from the driver’s side of his Jeep as she walks to his car. “Hey, Lydia,” he turns to smile at her when she settles in next to him.

“Hi,” she smiles back, some of her nerves melting away when her eyes meet his eyes. They’re both silent for a few minutes as Stiles pulls out of her driveway and turns onto the main road. The streets are quieter at this time of night, when there are no other cars rushing to work, or school, or wherever they were supposed to be ten minutes ago. The Jeep’s headlights illuminate the empty road in an almost peaceful way. It’s a safe kind of peace, just her and Stiles alone, with only the low hum of the radio between them.

A second later Stiles breaks that peace.

“Lydia,” he starts, pausing like the words he’s about to say are stuck in his throat, “about what happened at lunch-”

“I already told you I’m fine,” she interrupts him, not really in the mood to talk about the thing she’s been actively trying to avoid for the past few hours.

“I know that’s what you said, but I really don’t think you are,” he winces as if he just heard the words coming out of his own mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that so harshly, I mean- it’s just-” he stutters, looking unsure of the impact his next words will have on her.

“It’s just what, Stiles?” she asks a little more roughly than she means to.

“It’s just, the last time I saw you look like that it was because of something supernatural.” This time she’s the one wincing at his words. The air between suddenly feels thicker, and she knows they’re both thinking of Allison. Of the way he held her at the funeral, her throat raw from the sobs wracking her body every other second.

He takes a breath before continuing, “Look, I know this is probably the last thing you want to talk about right now, but if there is something going you have to let the rest of us know,” he pauses for a second, glancing at her before he continues. “You have to at least let me know.”

“I know. I promise I will.”

And she almost believes it.  

Fifteen minutes later Stiles is parking outside of Alex’s cabin, which seems to be the only house in a five-mile radius. Lydia thinks a literal cabin in the woods would be a little scarier if there weren’t a bunch of drunk teenagers yelling and singing along to booming music outside of it.

“I think the Scott and everyone else are already inside,” Stiles says as they walk up to the front door. “And by ‘everyone else,’ I mean _the_ _whole entire school_ ,” he says sarcastically as he pulls the front door open for both of them, revealing a jam-packed room full of their intoxicated classmates. The familiar smell of alcohol and weed attacks her nose immediately.

“Can’t mistake that smell,” Stiles says, causing her to let out a snort of laughter. “I think I see them over there,” he says, pointing toward their friends through the crowd of people. But something else catches her eye instead.

“Who’s that?” Lydia asks, staring intently at a young girl with a long, dark braid over her left shoulder.

“Her?” Stiles asks, following her line of sight, “I’m pretty sure that’s Alex’s younger sister.”

She freezes as soon as his words hit her, her mind connecting one unwanted dot to another. She flashes back to the girl she saw in the cafeteria earlier in the day, sweat beginning to pool in the palms of her hands.

The girl from her vision is Alex Mendes’ sister.  

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review if you enjoyed it :)


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